


Pinky Promise

by provocative_envy



Series: Chaos Theory [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Fluff, Ghost Hunting, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, POV Male Character, Romance, Sexual Content, Texting, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocative_envy/pseuds/provocative_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <i>“That’s very kind of you, Marcus,” she says, and he thinks that he might actually be losing his goddamn mind because her voice is light and airy and musical and the only thing he can come up with to compare it to is a fucking <b>cloud</b>—which is crazy. He’s crazy. Voices aren’t clouds. Clouds aren’t voices. Clouds are…clouds. They float and they’re filled with rain and they cover up the sun. Luna’s voice isn’t like that all. Luna’s voice might as well <b>be</b> the sun. “—could share, though, the bed is fairly large—much bigger than the bed in my dorm, certainly, and I’ve shared that with plenty of people.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He blinks. And then, just to be sure he isn’t hallucinating, he blinks again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What?”</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Zero

* * *

 

It all starts at Draco Malfoy’s annual Christmas Eve poker game.

Sort of.

Well—

That’s when Vince and Greg get wicked fucking food poisoning from the sketchy Thai food they’d brought over, at least.

 

* * *

 

(05:33 am) _ur still coming right_

(05:34 am) **_i guess_**

(05:34 am) **_even though its gonna suck_**

(05:34 am) _nah_

(05:35 am) _malfoy might be lamer than usual_

(05:35 am) _but watching pansy and potter argue is a thing of beauty_

(05:35 am) _its like they choreograph that shit_

(05:36 am) **_not what i meant_**

(05:36 am) **_still need a ride to the airport?_**

(05:37 am) **_im leaving in like an hour_**

(05:37 am) _yeah_

(05:38 am) _u know we’re not going to all pair off and ditch u right_

(05:38 am) _this is like bro-cation part two_

(05:38 am) _just with more snow_

(05:38 am) _and less terrible hipster beer_

(05:39 am) **_and ur all bringing ur girlfriends_**

(05:39 am) **_and im going to be alone_**

(05:40 am) **_even pucey and warrington are bringing girls_**

(05:40 am) _to make each other jealous_

(05:40 am) _!!!!!_

(05:41 am) _which is going to backfire horribly_

(05:42 am) _hope im drunk when it happens_

(05:42 am) _man will that be fucking epic_

(05:43 am) **_yeah_**

(05:49 am) _was the cabin reserved under ur name or gregs_

(05:55 am) **_mine_**

(05:56 am) _sweet_

(05:57 am) _so_

(05:57 am) _how long do u think it’ll take daphne and granger to get into another catfight_

(06:00 am) _on the plane_

(06:01 am) _or_

(06:10 am) **_depends how long daphne holds out on calling hermione the librarian_**

(06:10 am) **_and if draco laughs again when she finally does_**

(06:11 am) _hella accurate_

(06:12 am) _hey bro_

(06:13 am) _can u pack extra toothpaste for me_

(06:14 am) **_wtf_**

(06:14 am) **_theo_**

(06:15 am) _idk_

(06:15 am) _im out_

(06:15 am) _i fucking hate buying toothpaste_

(06:16 am) _theres like_

(06:16 am) _too many to choose from_

(06:17 am) _like how many flavors of mint can there actually be_

(06:17 am) _spearmint_

(06:18 am) _cinnamint_

(06:18 am) _glacier freeze_

(06:18 am) _or some shit_

(06:20 am) **_hermiones parents are dentists_**

(06:20 am) **_she tells me and draco what to buy_**

(06:21 am) **_and that last one is a gatorade flavor_**

(06:22 am) _jesus christ_

(06:22 am) _how often do u hang out with them_

(06:24 am) _?_

(06:25 am) **_shes nice_**

(06:25 am) **_and smart_**

(06:25 am) **_and draco likes basketball_**

(06:26 am) _finally figured that out did u_

(06:26 am) **_yeah_**

(06:28 am) _hey_

(06:28 am) _true or false_

(06:29 am) _malfoy picks all his beer based on how ironic the label art is_

(06:29 am) **_lolllllll_**

(06:30 am) **_true_**

 

* * *

 

Warrington’s fake girlfriend is named Luna Lovegood.

She shows up with a green corduroy duffle bag and a travel mug of weird herbal tea that smells like horseradish and Marcus furrows his brow when they’re all standing at the airline check-in desk because she isn’t really anything like what he’d been expecting from a guy like Warrington, even if the relationship isn’t actually real.

Like—she’s fucking _tiny_ , practically pocket-sized, and she’s younger than Warrington by a good four or five years, minimum, and she’s got her long blonde hair twisted into a messy knot on top of her head with what looks like an unsharpened yellow pencil and a lone plastic chopstick stabbed right through the middle—and _fuck_ if Marcus isn’t kind of morbidly curious about what security is going to say about that—except she’s also got these wide blue eyes that remind him of shit like watercolor paintings and clear summer skies, and she has this dreamy, super serene smile that makes him think of lazy Sunday afternoons and fairytales and maybe those elves from the _Lord of the Rings_ movies, and she’s pretty cute, he supposes, but there’s a brightness to her, an innocent kind of… _effervescence_ , that doesn’t belong anywhere _near_ Cassius Warrington’s sharp edges and grey morality and particularly grating brand of asshole behavior.

“Think he found her on Craigslist?” Theo mutters, slapping his boarding pass against the flat of his palm. “No, wait—ten bucks she’s a…sophomore? No, a freshman—a freshman at Brown. Yeah. Definitely Brown. Declaring a major there is like going to a fucking Build-A-Bear, man, I swear—”

Marcus scratches at the scruff on his chin and watches, transfixed, as the girl— _Luna_ —says something to Hermione that causes Draco to choke on his stupid preppy caramel latte and thump his fist against his chest while Hermione just, like, _gapes_ at Luna with an expression on her face that Marcus can only really describe as _horrified fascination_ —and Potter’s next to her, chortling into his Styrofoam cup of cheap gas station coffee while Pansy yawns into the curve of his shoulder, and Daphne and Blaise are lip-locked and grinding their hips together against the blue-tiled wall adjacent to the men’s bathroom door, and Warrington and Pucey are having a heated whisper-argument over by the ATMs, and—

“Where the fuck is _Pucey’s_ fake girlfriend, though?” Theo asks, looking intrigued.

Marcus shrugs.

He wonders what the girl— _Luna—_ had said to Hermione.

He wonders if it had even been that outrageous.

He wonders if her feelings had been hurt by Draco’s customary (over)reaction.

He wonders how Warrington had coerced her into coming on the trip.

He wonders if she really is a freshman at Brown.

He just—

He wonders.

 

* * *

 

(12:33 pm) _that was the worst four hours of my life_

(12:33 pm) _holy fucking shit_

(12:34 pm) **_you slept most of the flight_**

(12:34 pm) **_?_**

(12:34 pm) _that tension though_

(12:35 pm) **_yeah_**

(12:35 pm) _hella rough_

(12:35 pm) **_its weird that the girl pucey tried to bring used to know pansy and daphne_**

(12:36 pm) _fucking small world bro_

(12:38 pm) **_do you know what pansy did to her_**

(12:38 pm) **_that was so awful she legit ran away when she saw her at the airport_**

(12:40 pm) _uh_

(12:40 pm) _haha_

(12:40 pm) _yeah_

(12:41 pm) _sort of_

(12:41 pm) _it was a long time ago_

(12:41 pm) **_?_**

(12:42 pm) _remember when daph was dating that irish kid_

(12:42 pm) **_the diplomats son?_**

(12:42 pm) **_finnegan_**

(12:43 pm) **_daphne dated him?_**

(12:43 pm) _yeah_

(12:43 pm) _seamus_

(12:44 pm) _total fucking douche_

(12:44 pm) _drove a mustang_

(12:44 pm) _thought because he had an accent he was some kind of sex god_

(12:44 pm) _literally_

(12:44 pm) _that’s the phrase he used_

(12:44 pm) _such a douche_

(12:44 pm) _anyway_

(12:44 pm) **_wait_**

(12:45 pm) **_didnt he just get engaged to a guy_**

(12:45 pm) **_i think we’re facebook friends_**

(12:45 pm) _yeah he came out last year_

(12:46 pm) **_i don’t understand_**

(12:46 pm) **_what does he have to do with pansy and that girl at the airport_**

(12:47 pm) _well_

(12:47 pm) _daphne was dating finnegan right_

(12:48 pm) **_why don’t i remember this_**

(12:48 pm) _uh_

(12:48 pm) _this was the semester u were in juvie_

(12:49 pm) **_oh_**

(12:49 pm) _yeah_

(12:50 pm) _so_

(12:50 pm) _finnegan cheated on daphne with airport girl_

(12:50 pm) _lavender?_

(12:50 pm) _i think that was her name_

(12:51 pm) _yeah_

(12:51 pm) _lavender brown_

(12:51 pm) _it was like every terrible 90s porn cliché ever_

(12:52 pm) _a locker room blow job during lunch_

(12:52 pm) _she even had her hair in pigtails i think_

(12:52 pm) **_shit_**

(12:52 pm) **_lol_**

(12:52 pm) _right_

(12:52 pm) _like_

(12:52 pm) _wicked unsanitary_

(12:53 pm) _anyway they got caught_

(12:53 pm) _typical rumor mill bullshit tried to make it like it was daphne’s fault for not putting out_

(12:53 pm) _and_

(12:53 pm) _pansy went postal_

(12:53 pm) **_like_**

(12:54 pm) **_how postal_**

(12:55 pm) _hella postal_

(12:55 pm) _just_

(12:55 pm) _HELLA_

(12:56 pm) **_oh_**

(12:56 pm) **_sometimes im glad shes with potter_**

(12:57 pm) **_and not me_**

(12:58 pm) _i feel that_

 

* * *

 

The first words that Marcus actually speaks to Luna Lovegood are about their sleeping arrangements.

“You can take it, if you want,” he says, awkwardly shuffling his feet as they both stand in the doorway of the only downstairs bedroom in the cabin; he’d planned on claiming it so that he wouldn’t have to listen to all his coupled-off best friends enthusiastically bone for the next two weeks, but he feels a little guilty at the thought of leaving Luna to deal with those assholes by herself. “I can just grab the room next to Potter and Pansy. It isn’t a problem. He’s still scared of me.”

Luna studies him for an uncomfortably long moment. She has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and he instinctively hunches forward, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his abdomen as he tries to make himself seem smaller, less intimidating—because he knows what he looks like, especially to strangers, especially to _girls_ , knows that his shoulders are too broad and his muscles are too obvious and his face is too _mean_ —

Luna suddenly offers him a really fucking brilliant smile.

And his throat just—

It _tightens_.

“That’s very kind of you, Marcus,” she says, and he thinks that he might actually be losing his goddamn mind because her voice is light and airy and musical and the only thing he can come up with to compare it to is a fucking _cloud_ —which is crazy. He’s crazy. Voices aren’t clouds. Clouds aren’t voices. Clouds are…clouds. They float and they’re filled with rain and they cover up the sun. Luna’s voice isn’t like that all. Luna’s voice might as well _be_ the sun. “—could share, though, the bed is fairly large—much bigger than the bed in my dorm, certainly, and I’ve shared that with plenty of people.”

He blinks. And then, just to be sure he isn’t hallucinating, he blinks again. “What?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “The bed,” she replies easily. “I’m perfectly fine with sharing it. You’re quite enormous, of course, but I’m a very competent sleeper.”

He opens his mouth.

She skips— _legitimately fucking skips_ —into the room, tossing her bag onto the floral-print armchair by the window.

He closes his mouth.

“ _What_?” he says again, tone plaintive.

She bends over at the waist to touch her toes, arms loose, and he tries to force himself to not look—she’s wearing those skin-tight black cotton legging things that Pansy and Daphne have so many pairs of and holy fucking _shit_ do they leave absolutely fucking nothing to the imagination—but he can’t _quite_ tear his gaze away.

“I’m a very competent sleeper,” she repeats, arching her back as she straightens her spine. She reaches to unzip her bag. “My circadian rhythm is almost impossible to interrupt—Daddy says it’s because my hypothalamus is particularly well-maintained. In fact, if it wasn’t necessary for me to be on the ground floor, I would have no trouble sleeping upstairs, even with the peculiar oversaturation of amorous couples.”

Marcus squints at her as she holds up something that looks like a security camera. “Why—why is it necessary for you to be on the ground floor?” he asks, unable to really process anything else that she’d just said.

“Because my research indicates that this is where the haunting is,” she answers, tangling a long black cord around the fine bones of her wrist. “Could you mount this for me, Marcus? You’re tall enough that I doubt you’ll require any assistance.”

He chokes on his own saliva. “I don’t— _mount_ —mount _what_? What are you—what _haunting_?” he half-whispers.

“My thermal camera,” she says blithely. “I need it mounted in the corner there—it’s _very important_ that I capture as many overnight images as I can, and based on the irregular shape of the room, that is, mathematically speaking, an ideal vantage point. Here. Could you?”

He automatically walks over to her, taking the camera and the accompanying hardware. “I can’t—I need a drill,” he says dumbly.

She frowns, then brightens, then pulls a cordless power drill out of the depths of her bag. “Daddy packed this for me,” she informs him. “He also gave me condoms. He’s very thoughtful.”

Marcus’s hindbrain zeros in the part of that statement that means _Luna has condoms_ and it isn’t really a stretch to start thinking about the various scenarios in which Luna might, like, _need_ a condom—to use with him, maybe—and she’d be naked— _so naked_ —

He clears his throat and fits a screw into the base of the camera. “Um—you said—there’s a haunting?” he asks, helplessly.

“Yes, this is a historic landmark in certain circles—” _What the fuck?_ “—and a series of _very_ gristly murders occurred in this bedroom—or the site of the original kitchen, the reports are vague—around fifty-four years ago. Several sources confirm the presence of a spiritual entity, and I’m here to fact-check the aura of the building—” _What does that even mean?_ “—before Daddy’s producer files for the filming permits.”

He lines up another screw. “That’s…cool. So, like—ghost hunting? That’s what this is?”

She hums. “We don’t use that term, but I understand that it’s a common colloquialism. A lot of Daddy’s fans call it that, too.”

Marcus swivels the camera around to make sure he’d installed it correctly. “Done, I think,” he says, glancing down at her; she’s toying with one of her earrings—he thinks it might be a dangling gemstone radish—and chewing on her bottom lip. His stomach clenches at the sight. “So…um…how do you know Cassius?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Cassie? Oh, our mothers were in Junior League together. Of course, that was before they both died, but—”

Marcus coughs. “ _Cassie_?” he echoes.

“He’s not really a _Cassius_ , is he?” Luna muses.

“Uh, well, technically…he is, though? Not that you’re wrong!” he hastens to add. “It’s just—um—Cassius is…his name? Legally?”

She giggles, like Marcus has said something incredibly funny.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“But it doesn’t match his personality at all,” she says. “It’s so _masculine_.”

Marcus stares. He doesn’t think she’s being sarcastic, which is...new. And a little refreshing, honestly, because between Pansy and Draco and even Potter now that he’s around a lot—the amount of snarky bullshit that Marcus has to wade through to get to whatever the fuck they’re actually trying to say—it can be overwhelming.

“Cassie, then,” he finally manages to reply. “Yeah. Cassie. I see it.”

She beams up at him, and his chest swells with something unfamiliar and explosive and really, _really_ fucking warm. “You _do_ , don’t you?”

He ducks his head to hide the flush he can feel creeping into his cheeks.

He doesn’t think she’s talking about Warrington’s name.

 

* * *

 

(02:21 am) _so_

(02:21 am) _warrington and pucey aren’t fighting anymore_

(02:22 am) _if u_

(02:22 am) _uh_

(02:22 am) _catch what im throwing_

(02:22 am) _pun intended_

(02:23 am) _ha_

(02:23 am) _pun fucking HELLA intended_

(02:24 am) _anyway_

(02:25 am) _warrington said he promised he’d take blondie to some diner in ketchum tomorrow_

(02:26 am) _that supposedly has a fucking jackalope head on the wall_

(02:26 am) _or some shit_

(02:26 am) _idk_

(02:27 am) _will u do it_

(02:27 am) _take her i mean_

(02:30 am) _maybe for breakfast or whatever_

(02:36 am) _slopes are open till 2_

(02:45 am) _so_

(02:52 am) _??_

(02:54 am) _u awake_

(02:55 am) **yeah**

(02:55 am) **im here**

(02:56 am) **sure**

(02:56 am) **i’ll take her**

(02:57 am) _sorry bro_

(02:57 am) _we’d all go but_

(02:58 am) _granger told daph and pansy what trans fats were_

(02:59 am) _and partially hydrogenated soybean oil_

(03:00 am) _and msg_

(03:01 am) _?_

(03:01 am) _whatever_

(03:02 am) _and now theyre basically swearing off anything that hippies haven’t hand made in a fucking treehouse_

(03:03 am) **_yeah_**

(03:04 am) **_its fine_**

(03:05 am) _sweet_

(03:09 am) _hey_

(03:10 am) _what the fuck is a jackalope_

(03:15 am) _is it australian_

(03:16 am) _?????_

 

* * *

 


	2. Day One

* * *

 

He wakes up too early.

He isn’t really sure why—the rest of the house is silent, there isn’t any light bleeding through the blinds of his upstairs window, the annoying Metallica alarm on his tablet isn’t going off—but there’s this weird rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins that he normally equates with clean jerks and wind sprints and bicep curls, so he laces up his running shoes and puts on one of the hand-knitted black beanies that Hermione had made for him and he’s out the front door and jogging down the snow-banked gravel driveway before he stops to think too hard about how cold it is.

Because he likes this—the strain in his muscles, the sweat on his face, the cut and dry reality of physical exertion; his body can either do something or it can’t. There isn’t any in between. And that lack of arbitrary yes-no-maybe-so has always been his favorite part. He can remember being a teenager, too big for his age and too angry for his own good, sneaking into his dad’s gym, relishing the sting of weighted black leather against his knuckles, wicked upper cuts and hard right hooks—Marcus had perfect form, his dad had said so once, and starting fights had been so fucking _easy_. Finishing them had been even easier. He’d drowned out the noise of being a Flint—of being _Marcus_ Flint—in blood and bruises and broken bones, and it had been _dizzying_ how fast that had escalated from after-school football practice and a couple of playground suspensions to a bunk bed pallet in juvie and a warning from his dad’s attorney to _stop getting caught_ before he turned eighteen.

Marcus thinks he’s better now, though.

He’s still too big, still too angry, but he’s learned how to be scared of himself—violence comes as naturally to him as breathing does, after all, and he knows how that story ends.

So—

So he lifts weights and he uses his dad’s recipe for his protein shakes and he plays in a weekend rugby league and he obsessively watches ESPN and he runs a fucking _lot_. The urge to clear his head isn’t usually as intense as it had been when he’d rolled out of bed that morning, but he attributes that to the unfamiliarity of his new surroundings; he isn’t good with change, has had the same six or seven best friends since he’d been born, practically, and the abrupt inclusion of someone like Luna in his daily routine had left him…

Reeling.

Unsettled.

He snorts at how fucking stupid he sounds.

And then he picks up his pace, straightening his shoulders and tightening his abdominal muscles and making sure his hips are squared off as his steps get longer.

It’s nice for a while.

The forest is quiet, branches barely rustling and birds just beginning to chirp, and his breath puffs out of his mouth in steaming white clouds that dissipate with every mindless thud of his feet on the asphalt. His thoughts are finally calm and his mind is finally empty and he finds that he’s looking forward to breakfast—he doesn’t want to label his instinctive half-smile at the idea of _breakfast with Luna_ as anything serious, doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but there’s a fluttering in his stomach that makes him consider the possibility of crazy shit like butterflies and first date jitters and he has to laugh at that, just a little, because she doesn’t even know that he’s the one taking her to breakfast yet.

 

* * *

 

(09:10 am) _hey_

(09:10 am) _r u with blondie_

(09:16 am) **_her name is luna_**

(09:16 am) **_and yeah_**

(09:16 am) **_im with her_**

(09:16 am) **_why_**

(09:16 am) _warrington thinks ur besmirching her honor or something_

(09:17 am) _ur not right_

(09:17 am) _its too early for this shit_

(09:18 am) _like_

(09:18 am) _fuck_

(09:18 am) _its fucking_

(09:18 am) _hella early_

(09:19 am) _and daph kicks in her sleep_

(09:19 am) _and blaise snores_

(09:19 am) _and fucking malfoy took a two hour shower and now the bathroom smells like the goddamn perfume counter at saks_

(09:19 am) **_?_**

(09:20 am) **_were on our way to that diner_**

(09:20 am) _cool_

(09:21 am) _could u bring back bacon or something_

(09:22 am) **_what the hell_**

(09:22 am) _granger got rid of everything good_

(09:22 am) _like_

(09:23 am) _theres like thirty boxes of kashi_

(09:23 am) _and blaise is talking about buckwheat pancakes_

(09:23 am) _and im just like_

(09:23 am) _fuck all y’all_

(09:24 am) _im a fucking carnivore_

(09:24 am) _and malfoys such a bitch hes offering to make everyone smoothies now_

(09:25 am) _like_

(09:25 am) _i see u bro_

(09:25 am) _i know hes got a backpack full of fucking slim jims hidden in the mud room_

(09:30 am) **_do u want eggs_**

(09:31 am) _hella_

(09:32 am) **_over easy right_**

(09:32 am) **_with sourdough toast_**

(09:34 am) _lightly buttered though_

(09:34 am) _fucking_

(09:34 am) _cholesterol_

(09:35 am) _u feel me_

(09:40 am) **_are jackalopes real_**

(09:41 am) **_luna says they are_**

(09:42 am) **_ask hermione_**

(09:42 am) _granger just tried to junk punch me when i brought up jackalopes so_

(09:42 am) _make of that what u will_

(09:44 am) **_im salting ur eggs ok_**

(09:45 am) _ur the best bro_

 

* * *

 

Luna orders two whole grapefruits and a platter of scrambled egg whites for breakfast. She sweetly asks their elderly waitress for a side of cayenne pepper and _any nut butter except almond or cashew_ —which results in some suspicious side-eyeing from the rest of the staff, most of whom look like they could’ve been cast as extras in all the black-and-white diner scenes in _Pleasantville_ —and she leaves her neon pink cashmere scarf wrapped around the neck of the severed, cotton-stuffed jackalope head mounted on the far wall next to what Marcus is pretty sure is a Photoshopped picture of George W. Bush eating a bison burger.

“Um—you left your—did you want me to go back and get that for you?” Marcus offers as he holds open the restaurant door and juggles Theo’s overstuffed plastic to-go bag. “Your scarf, I mean? You left it.”

Luna glides past him, twirling the origami paperclip pendant on the chain of her necklace; she has a tiny clutch purse that’s an exact replica of a human eye, complete with lashes and a tear duct and a bright blue iris, and she’d said something about the necessity of having the _presence of a third eye_ and _constant vigilance_ and _windows to the spirit realm_ but he’d been dousing his omelet with Tapatio at the time and wondering if she’d _meant_ to grab his hand and lace their fingers together when they’d left the car and since he isn’t all that great at multitasking even when he _isn’t_ feeling frazzled and feverish—and _fuck_ if he hadn’t been feeling both wicked fucking frazzled _and_ wicked fucking feverish after she’d swung their interlocked hands around and graced him with a happy little smile that had made him want to pinch his own goddamn arm to make sure he wasn’t fucking _dreaming_ —he hadn’t caught the majority of her explanation about the purse, basically.

And now— _now_ she’s blinking up at him with a quizzical expression and he’s staring at her mouth because he doesn’t want to miss a fucking second of any of her smiles and she seems to _always_ be smiling so he figures it’s only a matter of time—

“Oh, no, Marcus, I _intended_ to leave a scarf behind for the jackalope,” she says, like it should have been obvious. “Jackalopes are notoriously cold-blooded, you know, his spirit is probably _freezing_ in the underworld—I’ll have to bring him some ear muffs tomorrow.”

He furrows his brow and waits for any part of what she’d just said to make some kind of sense. It doesn’t. “So—um—ghosts get…cold, then? Like, they don’t have bodies, right? How does that…how does that work, exactly?” he tries.

He’d been right.

It was only a matter of time before she smiled again.

 

* * *

 

(4:00 pm) _dude_

(4:00 pm) _granger and blondie are making granger and daphne look like best friends_

(4:00 pm) _what the fucks up with that???_

(4:05 pm) **_her name is luna_**

(4:05 pm) **_and hermione just doesn’t like it when people disagree with her_**

(4:06 pm) **_especially without evidence_**

(4:06 pm) **_like_**

(4:06 pm) **_this one time we were all watching the rundown_**

(4:06 pm) _fuck yeah_

(4:06 pm) _wasn’t stifler in that_

(4:07 pm) **_sean william scott_**

(4:07 pm) **_stifler is a fictional character_**

(4:08 pm) **_but yeah_**

(4:08 pm) **_he was_**

(4:08 pm) **_anyway_**

(4:08 pm) **_we were watching the rundown_**

(4:08 pm) **_and hermione said she didn’t like the rock because he only had one facial expression_**

(4:09 pm) **_and draco just told her she was wrong_**

(4:09 pm) **_and didn’t elaborate_**

(4:10 pm) **_and she kept trying to have a “discussion” about it_**

(4:10 pm) **_and he just said “anyone who doesn’t like the rock is wrong”_**

(4:11 pm) _he kind of has a point_

 

(4:12 pm) _the rock was_ _the fucking scorpion king u don’t fuck with that_

(4:12 pm) _hes like vin diesel if vin diesel was aging better_

(4:12 pm) _a fucking icon_

(4:12 pm) **_yeah_**

(4:13 pm) **_she was mad about “lack of evidentiary support”_**

(4:13 pm) **_idk_**

(4:14 pm) **_it got out of hand_**

(4:14 pm) **_but_**

(4:15 pm) **_luna isn’t like that_**

(4:15 pm) **_so_**

(4:16 pm) _yeahhhhhh_

(4:16 pm) _no shit bro_

 

* * *

 

It’s an hour after dinner—whole-grain rigatoni with a tomato-basil-zucchini sauce that Hermione had whipped up while Warrington polished off a bottle of chianti and Pucey interrogated Daphne about her toe socks—and Marcus is standing with Luna on the patio, hoodie zipped up and boots unlaced, watching Potter and Pansy and Draco and Hermione drunkenly attempt to build a pair of snowmen.

“You’d think that someone like _Hermione_ would be more interested in making an anatomically correct snowman,” Luna remarks tartly. “Wouldn’t you?”

Marcus bites down on his lower lip and scrunches up his nose to hold back his smirk—there’s something impossibly fucking _cute_ about Luna acting all irritated and passive aggressive. “Nah,” he drawls, “she forgets to be uptight when Draco’s around. Unless it’s finals week. Then they’re both uptight. You don’t want to be around for that.”

Luna tilts her chin to the side as Potter and Draco simultaneously stuff handfuls of snow down the back of Hermione’s jacket; they guffaw and high-five when she shrieks in outrage and Marcus absently wonders how long it’ll take them to remember that they aren’t actually friends.

“Draco and Hermione…they’re good for each other,” Luna says thoughtfully. “And they are, from what I’ve observed, very happy together as well.”

“Yeah.”

Luna’s lips twitch. “But that’s so _strange_!” she exclaims, laughter bubbling out.

Marcus shoots her a bemused grin. “What? How’s it _strange_?”

She shakes her head. “People rarely possess the self-awareness to like what’s good for them,” she replies, tone wistful. “Daddy says that’s why the divorce rate is so high.”

Marcus coughs. “That’s…”

“Oh! Did I tell you? I’ve narrowed down the possible murder locations for the haunting to either the bedroom that I’m in, or the bedroom that’s directly above mine,” she interrupts, bouncing on her toes and turning to latch onto his bicep, breasts brushing his elbow. “There wasn’t any nocturnal activity in the kitchen.”

Heat prickles at the nape of his neck; Luna’s really fucking tactile, it turns out, likes to hug him and hold his hand and sit on his motherfucking _lap_ ; and while he’s certainly not going to _complain_ —he’d probably let her use him as a goddamn human ladder if she needed to—he’s only technically known her for a day and a half, if that, and his dick is reacting accordingly to the idea of a hot new girl who enjoys touching him. And it’s awkward. He doesn’t think he’s gotten this many random unpredictable hard-ons since his freshman year of high school.

“Uh—isn’t that—Hermione and Draco’s room?”

“Mm hmm,” Luna confirms, rubbing her nose against the fabric of his hoodie. His breathing falters. Is she flirting with him? Is he supposed to do something now? “I tried to tell them at dinner—that’s why I brought out the thermal images from between approximately 3:15 and 3:47 this morning—but Hermione didn’t seem…amenable.”

He winces. _That’s_ a fucking understatement. “Hermione can be…stubborn? Yeah? She doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just—how she is.”

Luna hums, and then sighs, and then looks up at him through her eyelashes. “What about you, Marcus? What are _you_ like?”

He frowns, taken aback. “What?”

She shrugs. “Well, if Hermione is like _that_ —what are _you_ like?”

“I’m…” he trails off, licking his lips. “I’m…I don’t know. Not like Hermione?”

Luna curls her body around the front of his and snorts into his chest. He almost shivers. “I hardly need you to tell me _that_.”

He swallows, slinging his arm around her upper back; there’s enough clothing between them that he can’t really feel anything, but the position is still pretty intimate, and he’s grateful that he can’t see her face as he struggles to string a sentence together. “Yeah,” he says, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He doesn’t know how to answer her question, and he’s surprised by how much that bothers him. “Right. Uh—I’m—I’m…strong. Physically. I used to, um, used to get in a lot of fights, you know? I was good at that. Winning fights. There’s like this—zone, kind of, that I’d go into, and everything would become really _clear_ and, like, really _simple_ and…I liked that, I guess? Shit. That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

She doesn’t immediately respond.

He panics.

He hadn’t really _planned_ to delve into the mess that had been his adolescence; he has issues, he knows that, issues with anger and impulse control and what his court-appointed psychologist had termed his _toxic relationship with his father_ —but he hadn’t meant to—he hadn’t _wanted_ to—

“I believe in a lot of things that most people think aren’t real,” Luna eventually says, sounding contemplative and a little bit sad; but then she pauses, and giggles, and his heart feels like it’s lodged in his fucking throat. “And there’s an old adage, isn’t there, about how you don’t know how to properly appreciate something until you don’t have it anymore?”

He drags the toe of his boot along the ground and glances down at her. Flakes of snow are clinging to the ends of her hair, dusting her arms and the glittery purple pom-pom on the top of her hat. She’s ridiculous. She’s _beautiful_. He hadn’t even realized it had started to snow again. “Yeah?” he asks, suddenly feeling like he’s really out of his fucking depth.

She nods slowly. “Yeah,” she replies. “And I like to think that the opposite is true, too—that you can’t properly appreciate something you _aren’t_ any longer, not without having been whatever _it_ is…before. You know?”

He hesitates. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he murmurs, squinting out at the darkness of the trees. “I don’t think…stuff like that, it doesn’t just go away. It sticks. It lasts.”

She nudges his shoulder with her own, barely even jostling him. “Well, regardless,” she replies, voice oddly subdued. “Things don’t have to be logical to make sense, and things don’t have to make sense to be real. To be _true_.”

He isn’t positive that he understands what she’s talking about—nothing new there, really—but he suspects that she might be telling him something important, something that _she_ believes is real, something that she believes is _true_ ; and that’s enough for him, he thinks. Because he’s never met anyone quite like her before—someone whose honesty doesn’t come with a gift receipt.

And he likes it.

He likes _her_.

 

* * *

 

(01:16 am) _blondie told me some weird ass fucking story on the lift earlier_

(01:16 am) **_again_**

(01:16 am) **_her name is luna_**

(01:17 am) _like i guess some fools got their asses murdered in our cabin back in the day_

(01:17 am) _she went into a lot of detail_

(01:17 am) _it was super gross_

(01:17 am) _but_

(01:17 am) _daph wants to do a séance_

(01:18 am) _you and i are supposed to go get candles tomorrow_

(01:18 am) _a very specific kind of candle_

(01:18 am) _idk_

(01:18 am) _idgaf as long as theyre not fucking “vanilla” scented_

(01:18 am) _u feel me bro_

(01:19 am) _like_

(01:19 am) **_oh_**

(01:19 am) **_cool_**

(01:20 am) _whatever_

(01:20 am) _theres gonna be pizza_

(01:21 am) _hella pizza_

(01:22 am) _with fucking pepperoni_

(01:22 am) _and fucking meatballs_

(01:22 am) _and fucking kalamata olives_

(01:22 am) _so im in_

(01:24 am) **_hermione will probably make it thin crust_**

(01:24 am) _no shit_

(01:24 am) _fuck_

(01:24 am) _she confiscated pansys peppermint schnapps this morning_

(01:24 am) _before we left for the slopes_

(01:25 am) _shit tastes like magic in hot chocolate_

(01:27 am) **_why?_**

(01:27 am) _something about how if u wouldn’t drink it while driving u shouldn’t drink it while skiing_

(01:28 am) **_that’s pretty reasonable_**

(01:28 am) _what the fuck_

(01:28 am) _no its not_

(01:28 am) _if i want to get drunk and climb a fucking douglas fir with my fucking ski poles im fucking going to man_

(01:40 am) **_was the séance daphnes idea_**

(01:40 am) **_or lunas_**

(01:41 am) _séance was blondies idea_

(01:41 am) _pizza was daphs_

(01:45 am) **_i probably didn’t need to ask that question now that i think about it_**

 

* * *

 


	3. Day Two

* * *

 

Buying candles is the single most excruciating experience of Marcus’s life.

Probably.

He and Theo are sent off to a generic gift store in town; it’s called _Sensations_ , and Theo triple-checks the Yelp reviews on his phone before confirming, somewhat disbelievingly, that it isn’t a fucking sex shop.

And it _really_ isn’t a fucking a sex shop.

There are three antique rocking chairs in the window display—one is buried under a mountain of creepy, Victorian-themed porcelain dolls; one is draped in a white linen bedsheet with a rainbow-flag border and a ‘We Are Idaho’ slogan embroidered across the middle; and the last is being used as a stand for a short, stubby, very ornately decorated Christmas tree.

The store owner is a friendly middle-aged woman with a heavily Bedazzled nametag that reads ‘Gladys’; she has an acid-wash denim vest on over a festive red turtleneck, and, after directing them towards the aromatherapy aisle—which, _what_ ; Marcus is starting to feel both claustrophobic _and_ like they’ve inadvertently stumbled onto the small-town inspiration for every Stephen King novel, like, _ever_ —Gladys talks. Gladys talks a fucking _lot_.

“We’re real supportive of the gay rights ‘round here,” she chatters proudly. “Y’all don’t have to be shy.”

“What?” Theo grunts, leveling a weirdly violent glare at the row of vanilla-scented tea lights. “What are we being shy about? Oh, _bro_ , check it out, they have fucking _massage oil_ , sick—”

“Can you hurry up, man?” Marcus mutters, bending down to inspect a ceramic garden gnome that apparently releases an ‘authentic gardenia mist’ on preset timed intervals. “Um—ma’am? Do you happen to have any chalk?”

“Call me Gladys, sugar, my _mother_ is the ma’am in the family!” Gladys chirps, fluffing the bottom of her hair and then wrapping her hand around Marcus’s bicep and _squeezing_. “She voted _Democrat_ in the last election, too, in case y’all were curious! Love is love, that’s what God believes, cross my heart and say amen!”

“—what do ghosts even _like_ , though? Sandalwood? Lavender? Mint extract? _Blood orange_?” Theo is asking, seemingly oblivious to Gladys’s bird-of-prey death grip on Marcus’s arm. “Text blondie, she likes you way better than she likes me, she might give you an answer that isn’t, like, ripped off the back of a fucking Ouija board—”

“Um—Gladys?” Marcus hedges, grimacing as he attempts to yank his arm back. “The chalk? Please?”

“Oh, _certainly_ —it’s just right over here, although I should warn you, sugar, our selection’s a bit _limited_ what with all the _bookers_ wiping me out for the holidays—”

Marcus is pretty fucking sure he doesn’t want to know what a _booker_ is, but—

“What’s a _booker_?” Theo interjects, popping up behind a cutout cardboard display of creatively injured teddy bears—several have eye patches, several more have casts and plastic crutches. “Bro, hey, I got a whole bunch of the _Island Breeze_ candles; they smell like sunshine and lemonade, it’s _awesome_ , the ghosts are gonna go ape-shit.”

“ _Scrap bookers_ ,” Gladys titters, reaching out to pat Theo on the shoulder; she hums a little breathlessly as she adds, “They picked up some fancy city trend on the Pinterest with the chalkboard stickers, y’all know how it is—speakin’ of, you boys in from…San Francisco? Maybe Miami? Personally, I was always a _big_ fan of that Ricky Martin fella—”

Marcus can’t decide if he wants to run the fuck away or…no, that’s what he wants to do. He wants to run. Far. And fast. _Away._ With or without Theo. There isn’t any room for indecision, not at this stage in the game.

“Washington,” Theo replies slowly, holding up a dubiously acquired wicker basket that’s filled to the fucking _brim_ with candles. “D.C. Uh—Gladys, was it? Yeah? We’re just gonna…take these. And leave. Now. With the chalk—does that have _glitter_ in it? What the fuck—no, it’s cool, ghosts dig glitter, we’ll take that, too. Ready, big guy?”

 

* * *

 

(3:45 pm) _bro_

(3:45 pm) _wtf is a pentagram_

(3:46 pm) _?_

(3:46 pm) _is this some assassins creed shit_

(3:48 pm) **_we should ask draco_**

(3:50 pm) _what_

(3:50 pm) _no_

(3:51 pm) _no_

(3:52 pm) _we should abso-fucking-lutely not ask malfoy_

(3:52 pm) _malfoy will fucking laugh at us_

(3:52 pm) _and then start talking about that weird fucking diet granger wants to put them on_

(3:52 pm) _the one with all the fish_

(3:52 pm) **_pescetarianism_**

(3:53 pm) _just_

(3:53 pm) _hella fish_

(3:54 pm) _like_

(3:55 pm) _what does she have against flavortown_

(3:55 pm) _can u fucking tell me that_

(3:55 pm) **_if she offers to make you scrambled eggs_**

(3:56 pm) **_say no_**

(3:56 pm) _wtf_

(3:56 pm) _why_

(3:57 pm) **_do you really want to know_**

(3:59 pm) _I DON’T KNOW BRO_

(4:00 pm) _DO I?????_

(4:00 pm) **_warrington says a pentagram is a star with five points_**

(4:01 pm) _u should ask him if it matters that the chalk we got is sparkly_

(4:02 pm) **_he said to ask draco_**

(4:05 pm) _this is bullshit_

 

* * *

 

Hermione orders twelve thin-crust, gluten-free, vegetarian pizzas and then spends twenty minutes blotting the grease off with industrial-strength paper towels before she allows Theo to eat any.

Daphne, Blaise, Pansy, Warrington, and Pucey occupy themselves in the kitchen with what looks to Marcus like half the local liquor store and most of a Hawaiian pineapple farm.

Draco and Potter scowl at each other for a while before they wordlessly shotgun two Heinekens and scamper off to the basement to play unreasonably competitive pool and use Lucius’s credit card to illegally bet on Canadian hockey games.

Meanwhile, Marcus stands on the balcony with Luna, alternating between nervously sipping his beer and tearing at the label affixed to the outside of the bottle.

“Should they be, uh, drinking so much? Before the—the _séance_?”

She loops her arm through his elbow and snuggles into his side, looking up at him through thick blonde lashes. “Their inhibitions will be lowered,” she replies serenely. “The spirits will like that. It’s much easier to commune with them without the hindrance of social stigmas and skepticism—it will be better if they’re drunk.”

He squints at the ruins of the snowmen Draco and Hermione had left behind the previous night. “I don’t think anything is ever better when they’re drunk,” Marcus admits, honestly.

 

* * *

 

(10:33 pm) _fuckkkkk man_

(10:33 pm) _this is legit like the beginning of every shitty horror movie ever_

(10:34 pm) _u feel me_

(10:34 pm) _like_

(10:34 pm) _a large group of super SUPER attractive young people_

(10:34 pm) _in a fucking cabin_

(10:35 pm) _in the fucking woods_

(10:35 pm) _with a fucking_

(10:35 pm) _sparkly white pentagram_

(10:35 pm) _and $200 worth of citrus scented aromatherapy candles_

(10:35 pm) _because FUCK vanilla_

(10:36 pm) _and just_

(10:36 pm) _like_

(10:36 pm) _nine gallons of jungle juice_

(10:37 pm) _HELLA jungle juice_

(10:37 pm) _seriously_

(10:37 pm) _we could fill the bed of a fucking pickup truck with what’s currently in the fucking fridge_

(10:38 pm) _like a redneck swimming pool_

(10:38 pm) _daph and pansy need snape to teach them about alcohol poisoning_

(10:38 pm) _damn_

(10:38 pm) _remember that shit_

(10:39 pm) _the fucking_

(10:39 pm) _cpr dummy_

(10:39 pm) _and the sea monkey kit_

(10:39 pm) _like_

(10:39 pm) _snape is such a fucking terrifying off brand dracula motherfucker_

(10:40 pm) _bro needs a fucking theme song_

(10:40 pm) _and like a pipe organ_

(10:40 pm) _but_

(10:40 pm) _back to my original point_

(10:40 pm) _we’re all gonna fucking die_

(10:41 pm) _hella die_

(10:41 pm) _u and blaise are probably going first though_

(10:41 pm) _black guys always die first_

(10:42 pm) _shit_

(10:42 pm) _should we hide y’all_

(10:42 pm) _??????????_

(10:43 pm) **_theo_**

(10:43 pm) **_the power went out_**

(10:44 pm) **_pucey is finding the backup generator_**

(10:44 pm) **_calm down_**

(10:55 pm) _hey man_

(10:56 pm) _im sorry i said u would die first_

 

* * *

 

Marcus is lying flat on his back on the leather couch in the still-dark living room, an empty mug of peppermint schnapps-infused hot chocolate rolling around on the floor next to his hand.

He’s comfortable.

Warm.

 _Cozy_ , really, even with Luna sitting on top of his abdomen, spine straight and legs crossed, her long blonde hair tumbling out of a loose, messy bun, strands of it curling over her bare shoulders. She’s staring at the panoramic window that takes up a good chunk of the far wall, studying their respective warped reflections in the tinted, shadowy sheen of the glass.

“Have you ever seen my father’s show?” she suddenly asks, and her voice is gentle, and it doesn’t _cut_ the silence so much as it just—fucking melts into it, like honey into tea or sugar into coffee; sweet and easy and light.

“Uh—I’ve heard of it,” he replies, shifting under her weight. “But I…mostly watch sports?”

She hums. “You do that a lot,” she comments idly.

“What, watch sports?”

She giggles, and he fights off the ridiculous fucking urge to _fidget_. “No—you just sound like you aren’t sure about what you’re saying a lot of the time. Like there’s a permanent question mark at the end of all your answers.”

He tucks an arm under the back of his head and thinks about how to respond. He doesn’t know—he doesn’t _know_ , not exactly, how to explain himself to her; how to explain himself to anyone. He’d grown up believing that actions, _reactions_ , were more important than words. There hadn’t ever been a point to learning how to—what had his therapist called it— _externalize his emotions_ ; and, if he’s being honest, there hadn’t been much to externalize. He wasn’t smart like Draco, or calm like Blaise, or clever like Theo. Marcus had kept the world at a distance, kept everything in focus with fucking blinders on, vision narrow and sight as short as he could make it—because there was anger, and there was apprehension, and there were a lot of other really shitty things that started with the letter ‘a’—like _abandonment_ , that one fucking _sucked_ —but beyond that—he doesn’t _know_.

“I guess,” he finally says, curling his toes into the cushion of the couch. He has wool socks on, chunky and white, with multi-colored strings of Christmas lights sewn around the tops. “I’m not—I don’t like talking? About myself, I mean. My dad…we were super close when I was younger, especially after my mom left, but we didn’t…talk? We just—I don’t know. Hung out. Went to games. I, uh, look a lot like him. Like, _a lot_.”

She purses her lips. “I saw one of your father’s fights a few years ago,” she says, her tone significantly less dreamy than it had been. Marcus tenses. “Daddy and I were in Las Vegas checking out a hotel room at the Luxor that these tourists from Florida insisted had a haunting. I got lost—well, that’s what I told Daddy, but I actually just wanted to find where they kept the mummies, I’d heard they had a Capuchin monkey—anyway, I ended up running into the showcase. Your father was…winning.”

Marcus snorts. “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

She shrugs, the lace-trimmed strap of her tank top sliding down her arm. “Regardless,” she continues, “I don’t think you look anything like him. His ears reminded me of a bat. You have _lovely_ ears.”

Marcus opens his mouth to reply—and what the fuck is he supposed to _say_ to that—just as a loud crash sounds from the kitchen.

“ _Oh_!” Luna whispers, digging her fingernails into the hem of his t-shirt as she practically vibrates with excitement. “The spirit is here!”

Marcus kind of doubts that, especially since there are nine other people in the house, but he sits up anyway, stomach muscles contracting as he reaches out to settle Luna more comfortably on his lap—and the part of him that cares about shit like dignity _really_ wants her to stop moving around like that, but the rest of him is pretty overwhelmingly on board with what his _dick_ wants, which is for her to _never_ stop moving around like that, so—

“Wait, shouldn’t we…do something?” he asks, slightly desperate. “Like—catch it? Or…greet it? Didn’t you want to talk to it earlier? With the—star circle thing? The pentagram?”

She blinks at him, huge blue eyes more than a little fucking mesmerizing in the semi-darkness. “If the spirit wanted to interact with us, it would have created a disturbance in _here_ , Marcus. We shouldn’t bother it while it expresses itself.”

His hands fall to her hips, almost without his permission, and he’s struck by how small she is—how small he _isn’t_ —and he waits for the inevitable wave of panic to wash over him, waits for her to feel _breakable_ and for him to feel _dangerous_ ; but it doesn’t come. “Oh,” he says dumbly.

Her nose twitches, like she’s trying not to laugh. “I know that everyone here thinks I’m crazy,” she muses with another one of her jarringly abrupt subject changes. “And that doesn’t bother me. I’m used to that. People like _Hermione_ —they close themselves off to the things they don’t understand. That’s normal. But my dad’s show…what we _do_ …it isn’t for those people, or our viewers, or even us.”

“It’s not?”

She leans forward, resting her cheek on the broad curve of his shoulder. “No,” she sighs wistfully. “It’s about the spirits. It’s about—just because they’re _dead_ , doesn’t mean they’re _gone_ , right? They don’t leave, they just…linger. And hauntings—those are how they let us know that.”

“So—you and your dad—you…”

“We listen,” she replies promptly. “And if they’re unhappy—like murder victims often are—we help them. We set them _free_.”

He furrows his brow. “What do you do if they—the, uh, _spirits_ —what do you do if they’re…happy? Where they are?”

She pulls back, glancing up at him with obvious surprise.

But then she—

She _smiles_ , because she’s always fucking smiling, but this one, _this_ smile, it’s totally fucking different—it’s tiny, and it’s secretive, and it’s _mischievous_ , and he wonders what she’s thinking about, what she even _sees_ when she looks at him, because he’s beginning to suspect that what _she_ sees isn’t what _he_ sees, isn’t what everyone else sees, and maybe that’s the _point_ , maybe that’s what _matters_ —

She kisses him before the thought can stabilize.

And her lips are soft, _so_ fucking soft, as they brush against his—

Once.

And then twice.

And then a third time.

And then he winds his fingers through the tangled blonde hair at the nape of her neck, and he kisses her, and he tilts her head to the side, and he _kisses_ her, and he uses his tongue to lick at the seam of her mouth, tasting the remnants of sticky cinnamon Goldschläger and tangy sweet tomato sauce, and he kisses her, and he kisses her, and he marvels at how this moment— _their_ moment—is both impossibly perfect and impossibly _possible_.

And he kisses her.

And he _kisses_ her.

And she kisses him back and he kisses her again—again— _again_ —and he’s pretty sure he’s about to run out of oxygen, pretty sure that he’ll have to stop, eventually, to speak or eat or _breathe_ —

He doesn’t want to stop.

He kisses her.

He _kisses_ her.

 

* * *

 

(01:00 am) **_everything alright?_**

(01:02 am) _yeah man_

(01:02 am) _just_

(01:03 am) _u know_

(01:03 am) _daph brought something up a while ago that kind of_

(01:03 am) _…upsets blaise?_

(01:04 am) **_oh_**

(01:04 am) _hes just being dramatic_

(01:04 am) _its not_

(01:04 am) _like_

(01:04 am) _a THING_

(01:05 am) _she can just be a little too honest sometimes_

(01:05 am) _and blaise can be worse than malfoy when it comes to_

(01:05 am) _fuck_

(01:06 am) _idk_

(01:06 am) _denial?_

(01:07 am) _hella denial_

(01:07 am) **_yeah_**

(01:08 am) **_blaise tried to get everyone to sign a petition to get me reinstated on the football team in high school_**

(01:08 am) **_he wouldn’t listen when I told him it wouldn’t work_**

(01:08 am) _weren’t u in juvie at the time_

(01:09 am) _like u weren’t even a student anymore_

(01:09 am) _right_

(01:09 am) **_yeah_**

(01:10 am) **_he’s stubborn_**

(01:12 am) _that’s our boy_

(01:13 am) **_so that was one of you slamming doors?_**

(01:14 am) _it was granger actually_

(01:14 am) _she heard us arguing_

(01:15 am) _and like_

(01:15 am) _idk_

(01:15 am) _it got heated bro_

(01:17 am) _hey_

(01:17 am) _did u know malfoy wears one of those douchelord eye masks to bed_

(01:18 am) _?????_

(01:19 am) _its fucking_

(01:19 am) _green satin_

(01:19 am) _with little cartoon dragons all over it_

(01:20 am) **_that explains the weird leather slippers_**

(01:21 am) _weird old man slippers u mean_

(01:21 am) _like where does he even get those_

(01:22 am) _the fucking tommy bahama catalogue_

(01:23 am) **_I think he stole them from his dad’s closet in maine_**

(01:25 am) _theyre lucius’s_

(01:25 am) _???_

(01:26 am) **_I think so yeah_**

(01:28 am) _oh_

(01:29 am) _huh_

(01:29 am) _theyre not that bad I guess_

(01:29 am) **_yeah_**

(01:31 am) _comfy_

(01:31 am) **_yeah_**

(01:32 am) _and honestly pretty stylish_

(01:32 am) **_yeah_**

(01:33 am) _bet they keep his feet warm as fuck_

(01:33 am) **_yeah_**

(01:35 am) _so_

(01:35 am) _hey_

(01:35 am) _why did u want to know if it was us slamming doors_

(01:35 am) **_luna wanted to know_**

(01:36 am) **_she thought maybe the séance worked and the spirit was alerting us to its presence_**

(01:37 am) **_she wants to go to the historical society tomorrow_**

(01:37 am) **_i said I’d take her_**

(01:38 am) _oh_

(01:39 am) _wait ur with blondie?_

(01:41 am) _like_

(01:42 am) _in bed?_

(01:44 am) _???_

(01:44 am) _MARCUS_

(01:45 am) _MARCUS FLINT_

(01:46 am) _????????????_

(01:47 am) _!!!!!!!!!!_

(01:55 am) _ur a dick_

(01:59 am) _im setting pansy on u in the morning_

 

* * *

 


	4. Day Three

* * *

 

Marcus wakes up to a dreamy, sleep-soft voice in his ear.

“Marcus.”

He grunts.

“ _Marcus_.”

He curls his arms above his head, muscles popping and shoulders flexing.

“Marcus.”

He burrows his face deeper into his pillow, dragging in a breath and humming happily when he registers the faint scent of Chai tea and citrus shampoo—it’s just so _nice_ , fuck—

“Marcus, I want to have sex.”

He bolts upright. “ _What_? Right—right now?” he bleats, squinting at Luna in the dim, lavender-tinted light of the very early morning; and her hair is escaping the long, messy braid she’d put it in the night before, and her eyes are a shimmering, stormy sky blue, deceptively innocent next to the liquid slant of her smirk—and what the fuck is _that_ about, Luna doesn’t _smirk_ —

Except Luna apparently absolutely _does_ smirk, and she does it with a super terrifying amount of promise that she’s _literally already delivering on_ , shit, because she’s _naked_ and she’s nudging his arm so that he rolls onto his back and the sheets pool around his hips and she’s straddling his knees and she’s dropping a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses onto his neck and his chest and his torso, the plush cushion of her lips grazing the underside of his cock, and he’s crazy fucking hard and he’s crazy fucking _awake_ and he remembers with vivid, electric clarity how fucking _awesome_ the previous night had been, how good she’d felt and how intensely he’d reacted—and his name had been like syrup on the tip of her tongue and she’d tasted sweet and salty and yeah, _fuck yeah_ , he wants to do that again, wants to eat her out and make her come—and come—and _come_ —until she’s soft and sensitive and fucking _soaking_ wet—

So.

He does.

He gently pushes her towards the foot of the bed, staring a little shamelessly as her breasts bounce with the movement, and hitches one of his shoulders under one of her thighs, spreading her legs wide and exposing her cunt to the chilly morning air; and he pauses, runs his thumb along the hollow of her pelvis and then down, in, around and around her clit, and he’s not—he’s not a _subtle_ guy, like, he isn’t smooth and he isn’t sensual and he’s pretty sure that seducing a fucking _houseplant_ would be beyond him if it really came down to it—and he’s had sex before, a lot of it, and he’s gotten off and he’s given his fair share of awkward morning-after orgasms to avoid looking like an asshole but this doesn’t— _Luna_ doesn’t belong in that category, no, not when that category is all split-second guesses and insincere smiles, smeared lipstick phone numbers and crumpled up condom wrappers—and Luna, _Luna_ , Luna is bright honesty and cheerful laughter and this blinding effervescent _belief_ in things that shouldn’t be real and shouldn’t make sense but they are and they do and it’s _her_ , he fucking knows it, knows that she’s _special_ , even if it’s just to him—and he leans in to fit his mouth over her cunt and hears her gasp and sees her fingers twist in the sheets and he flicks his tongue out, dipping into tight wet warmth and swirling swirling _swirling—_ and he uses his hands to map the curve of her ass, squeezing and rocking her hips forward so that she can grind herself against his mouth, and then he fucks three of his fingers into her and flattens his forearm against her lower abdomen and he wraps his lips around her clit and he slurps and she tenses and he waits and she _shatters_ —

“Oh, my God,” she finally whispers. “ _Marcus_.”

And he grins, and he presses a kiss to her trembling inner thigh, and he thinks about how fucking cool it would be if he got to do that _every morning._

 

* * *

 

(10:14 am) _bro_

(10:14 am) _we need to talk_

(10:16 am) **_?_**

(10:16 am) **_youre sitting next to me_**

(10:17 am) _yeah_

(10:17 am) _and youre gonna spread some of that full fat strawberry cream cheese on my fucking bagel_

(10:18 am) _when granger isn’t looking_

(10:18 am) _whats ur point_

(10:19 am) **_is that enough_**

(10:19 am) _maybe like_

(10:19 am) _a SMIDGE more man_

(10:19 am) _im fucking dying over here_

(10:20 am) _egg white omelets are like_

(10:20 am) _remember those nickelodeon shows_

(10:21 am) _with the fucking_

(10:21 am) _huge ass buckets of green slime_

(10:21 am) _like_

(10:22 am) _“you got SLIMED tiny children now go watch doug wear a sweater vest and hella creep on patty mayonnaise”_

(10:23 am) **_snape would have had a field day with doug_**

(10:24 am) _fuck yeah he would have_

(10:24 am) _no means no bro_

(10:24 am) _preach it_

(10:25 am) **_so egg whites are slimy?_**

(10:26 am) _its like someone put a fucking sea cucumber in malfoy’s fucking vitamix_

(10:26 am) **_gross_**

(10:28 am) _that reminds me_

(10:28 am) _you know what else is gross_

(10:30 am) **_wheat germ milkshakes?_**

(10:31 am) _yes_

(10:32 am) _BUT ALSO NO_

(10:32 am) _STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT_

(10:33 am) **_im not following_**

(10:34 am) _ITS HELLA GROSS_

(10:34 am) _LISTENING TO BLONDIE_

(10:35 am) _GIVE THE WHOLE HOUSE A FUCKING PLAY BY PLAY OF EXACTLY WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH YOUR TONGUE_

(10:35 am) _I JUST_

(10:35 am) _I AM BESIDE MYSELF_

(10:39 am) **_her name is luna_**

(10:40 am) **_not blondie_**

(10:42 am) _NO_

(10:43 am) **_do you want more cream cheese_**

(10:43 am) _what the fuck do you think bro_

 

* * *

 

Marcus goes with Luna to the historical society after lunch, and it’s…old.

It’s located on the ground floor of a sprawling Victorian mansion that reminds him of the haunted house at Disneyland—like, there’s a spiked, super tall cast-iron fence lining the snow-banked lawn; peeling slate grey paint and half-rotted, whitewashed dormers dotted sporadically along the roof; and a stained glass diamond-paned window installed above the front door with a fucking trio of _ravens_ in the middle.

“Are you, uh, sure this is it?” he asks Luna, scratching the back of his neck and glancing around warily as they climb the creaking plywood porch steps; Luna has her arm looped through his elbow, the wool of her turquoise pea coat scratchy against his North Face fleece.

“Yes,” she chirps. “But I called ahead—the records I need should be waiting for us in the orangery.”

She leads him around the porch, to a narrow dirt path that stretches out behind the house, and he blinks in confusion—how the hell does she even know where she’s going? “Orangery?” he mumbles, tripping over a gnarled tree root. “Records? Couldn’t—uh—isn’t there, like, a city hall?”

“Not _those_ types of records,” she replies with a carefree squeeze of his bicep. “I need _personal_ records—diaries, letters, local newspaper clippings. Speaking of, have you noticed the tension between your friends? Daphne and Theo and Blaise? I suspect that their relationship is somewhat rocky…which is in line with Daphne’s aura, to be honest—she’s been glowing Robin’s egg blue the past few mornings. Oh, we’re here!”

Marcus hesitates at the entrance to the orangery—which really _seriously_ just looks like a fucking greenhouse—and has to shake his head to clear it. _Auras_ are a Luna thing. Like hauntings, and spirits, and scary Gothic horror throwback mansions. Although…he’s a little curious about what color _his_ aura is. His dad’s is probably that gross swampy brown-green that frogs use to camouflage themselves in the mud, but Marcus imagines that _Luna’s_ is pink—bubblegum pink, pretty and sweet and _happy_ —

“—all done!” Luna announces, tucking a thick white envelope into her bag, an iridescent purple nylon satchel covered in sequined yellow banana peels. “Did you want a ginger snap? Gladys left a plate. They’re decorated with rainbow sprinkles, which shouldn’t be delicious but actually somehow _is_ …maybe it’s the social commentary—”

“Whoa, did you—did you say _Gladys_?” Marcus interrupts, grimacing at the memory of having to buy scented fucking candles with Theo. “ _Gladys_ runs the, uh, the historical society? That’s—yeah?”

“Yes?” Luna answers, tilting her head to the side; she looks puzzled in very _vague_ kind of way, lips parted and gaze focused on his with an earnest expectancy that makes him want to fucking _kiss her_ , shit.

“Theo and I—we met her in town yesterday,” Marcus explains, tentatively wrapping his arms around Luna’s lower back to draw her in closer. He thinks he sees a smile flicker across her face, and his heartbeat stalls and stops and starts up again with a flurry of warmth and nerves and—

“You must have been the _strapping young men_ she was talking about, then,” Luna says with a quiet giggle. “She went on about you for a _while_.”

Marcus coughs out a chuckle and can’t help but tighten his grip on Luna’s waist to draw her into a kiss—

And it’s light and deliberate, hazy with the soft, yearning _ache_ of how much he fucking _likes_ her, likes how time seems to slow down and the world seems to simplify and he just— _relaxes_ , yeah, doesn’t have to worry about not getting it or not keeping up because it’s _Luna_ and she’s like a living breathing antidote for the anger he’d always always _always_ been convinced lurked right beneath the surface of his skin, prickling and buzzing and ringing like the fucking starting bell at one of his dad’s fights—

And Marcus would _tell_ her that, he would, except—except he’s _bad_ at expressing himself, bad at talking about shit that matters—

He pulls away.

He swallows.

He meets her eyes, and there’s a moment of unprecedented _stillness_ as she studies him.

“Me too,” she suddenly declares, reaching for his hand and beginning their long trek back to the street.

He furrows his brow. “You…too?”

She bites her lip. “Everything you didn’t say,” she murmurs. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

(7:01 pm) _wtf are pansy and granger fighting about now_

(7:01 pm) _potter and malfoy look like theyre about to cry_

(7:02 pm) _hey_

(7:02 pm) _if they exchange bro hugs_

(7:02 pm) _within the next two days_

(7:02 pm) _you owe me fifty bucks_

(7:03 pm) _NEVER FORGET_

(7:04 pm) **_fire hazards_**

(7:04 pm) _????????_

(7:05 pm) **_pansy wants to light the fire pit_**

(7:05 pm) **_and make like_**

(7:06 pm) **_fire themed fizzy drinks_**

(7:06 pm) **_with dr pepper and everclear_**

(7:07 pm) **_and sparklers_**

(7:08 pm) **_?_**

(7:08 pm) **_idk if i heard that part right_**

(7:08 pm) **_i was doing something with luna_**

(7:08 pm) _DUDE_

(7:09 pm) _GROSS_

(7:09 pm) _NO_

(7:09 pm) _STOP_

(7:10 pm) **_what?_**

(7:10 pm) **_oh_**

(7:10 pm) **_no_**

(7:11 pm) **_we weren’t doing that_**

(7:11 pm) **_we were looking over the thermal imaging footage from last night_**

(7:12 pm) **_for the spirit’s heat signature_**

(7:15 pm) _...that sounds like an elaborate fucking cover story bro_

(7:16 pm) _yeah_

(7:16 pm) _not buying it_

(7:17 pm) _ANYWAY_

(7:17 pm) _FIRE PIT_

(7:17 pm) _are we taking votes_

(7:17 pm) _cuz i am HELLA here for fucking sparklers man_

(7:18 pm) _are they the ones from the fourth of july party_

(7:18 pm) _those georgia tech guys were chill as hell_

(7:24 pm) **_they set the barbeque on fire_**

(7:25 pm) _I KNOW_

(7:25 pm) _HOW BADASS WAS THAT_

(7:29 pm) **_about the voting_**

(7:29 pm) **_hermione said this vacation isn’t a democracy_**

(7:29 pm) **_and then draco rolled his eyes_**

(7:30 pm) **_and said “so you’ve decided on communism”_**

(7:31 pm) **_and potter burst out laughing_**

(7:32 pm) **_and hermione just pointed to their bedroom door_**

(7:32 pm) **_and called it the iron curtain_**

(7:33 pm) **_idk what that means_**

(7:33 pm) **_but_**

(7:34 pm) **_draco looks kind of pissy now_**

(7:34 pm) **_potters still laughing_**

(7:35 pm) **_do you think he’ll get to be best man when draco and hermione get married_**

(7:37 pm) _probably yeah_

(7:38 pm) _but im getting the fire pit set up with pucey and blaise_

(7:38 pm) _come help_

(7:38 pm) _also_

(7:38 pm) _i appreciate granger about 200% more now_

(7:38 pm) _like_

(7:38 pm) _hella appreciate granger_

(7:38 pm) _shutting malfoy down like that takes talent_

(7:39 pm) **_even though she hid the butter_**

(7:39 pm) _wtf_

(7:39 pm) _why is god testing me like this_

(7:40 pm) **_because ur an asshole_**

(7:41 pm) _the sodomy probably doesn’t help_

(7:41 pm) **_lol_**

(7:45 pm) _hey man do u know where daphne is_

(7:46 pm) **_shes playing monopoly with warrington_**

(7:47 pm) **_shes kicking his ass_**

(7:47 pm) **_she has like four hotels on boardwalk_**

(7:48 pm) _oh_

(7:48 pm) _typical_

 

* * *

 

Around eleven that night, Luna changes into a pair of tiny blue spandex shorts and a tie-dye sports bra and goes out to do something she fondly refers to as ‘ _snowga’_ —and Pansy overhears the tail-end of the conversation and laughs so hard she sloshes half her vodka-cranberry onto the polished bamboo floor of the kitchen.

“ _Snowga_ ,” Pansy drawls, giving Marcus an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “That’s…different. _Special_ , even.”

Marcus sighs. “Don’t go there, Pansy.”

Pansy peers at him with bleary-eyed suspicion, and then—

“I _knew_ it!” she shrieks, spilling the rest of her drink as she spins around to shout, “ _Daph!_ You owe me a gallon of hazelnut gelato! The eagle has landed! I repeat, _the eagle has landed!_ ”

Marcus frowns. “The eagle— _what_?”

Pansy flaps her wrist and shushes him.

 _“—verbal confirmation, Pancake, that’s what Cassie insisted on_ —” Daphne calls out from the living room.

“ _Cassie_?” Marcus mouths to himself.

“—look, if I say the eagle has fucking landed then the eagle has fucking _landed_ , okay—” Pansy is retorting, raising her voice “—eagle is fucking _hibernating for the winter_ he’s so landed—”

“ _What_ are you _talking_ about?” Marcus interjects loudly.

Pansy pauses. “We bet on whether or not you and blondie were fucking with _feelings_ or just fucking,” she replies with an easy, unrepentant shrug. “I was pretty sure you were, like, _writing sonnets to her eyes_ or some shit in your spare time, so…I totally won. I always win. It’s almost _boring_ , you know?”

Marcus isn’t nearly as fluent in Pansy as Potter probably is, but he thinks that he understands what the point of this conversation might be. “So,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his own. “You approve, huh? Of Luna?”

Pansy leisurely inspects the vibrant red polish on her fingernails. “You look at her like Draco looks at Granger,” she sniffs, pursing her lips.

Marcus snorts out a small, affectionate laugh. “Like Potter looks at _you_ ,” he corrects.

And _that_ makes Pansy smile for real, slightly crooked and wholly genuine—

“I’ll split the gelato with you if you call Warrington _Cassie_ to his face.”

 

* * *

 

(12:10 am) _BRO_

(12:10 am) _WHAT THE FUCK_

(12:10 am) _THAT WAS CRAZY_

(12:11 am) _IM FUCKING_

(12:11 am) _IM SCREAMING_

(12:12 am) _THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT HOUSE_

(12:12 am) _IS FUCKING HAUNTED_

(12:12 am) _FUCKING_

(12:12 am) _FUCKING CRABBE AND FUCKING GOYLE MAN_

(12:13 am) _WHERE DID THEY FUCKING FIND THIS PLACE_

(12:13 am) _THIS IS FUCKING_

(12:14 am) _IM FUCKING SCREAMING BRO_

(12:14 am) _WHAT THE FUCK_

(12:14 am) _WAS THIS THEIR DRUG DEALERS IDEA OF A FUCKING PRANK_

(12:14 am) _IS THAT WHAT THIS WAS_

(12:15 am) _FUCKING_

(12:15 am) _“MILLICENT”_

(12:15 am) _MORE LIKE_

(12:15 am) _FUCKING_

(12:15 am) _MALIFICENT_

(12:16 am) _FUCKING_

(12:16 am) _BULLSHIT_

(12:16 am) _FUCK THIS IM GOING TO BOISE_

(12:17 am) _WE’RE ALL GOING TO FUCKING BOISE_

(12:17 am) _PACK YOUR SHIT_

(12:17 am) _TELL BLONDIE THIS ISNT A FUCKING PATRICK SWAYZE MOVIE_

(12:18 am) _THE GHOST IS NOT FUCKING FRIENDLY_

(12:18 am) _IT FUCKING_

(12:19 am) _WHAT THE FUCK BRO_

(12:19 am) _WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK_

(12:20 am) **_ur not screaming_**

(12:20 am) **_ur doing shots of malibu in the kitchen_**

(12:21 am) **_with draco and blaise and potter_**

(12:21 am) **_and vince and greg have two dealers_**

(12:21 am) **_millicent and dolohov_**

(12:22 am) **_we don’t know which one suggested this house_**

(12:22 am) **_it could have been dolohov_**

(12:23 am) **_oh_**

(12:23 am) **_and the spirit is fine_**

(12:23 am) **_luna says it was probably just startled_**

(12:24 am) _FUCK THAT_

(12:24 am) _STARTLED MY ASS_

(12:24 am) _MY FINE_

(12:25 am) _WHITE_

(12:25 am) _STATISTICALLY MOST LIKELY TO SURVIVE THE POLTERGEIST ATTACK_

(12:25 am) _ASS_

(12:26 am) _AND ITS NOT MALIBU_

(12:27 am) _STOP CALLING IT THAT_

(12:27 am) _ITS FUCKING_

(12:28 am) _DRAGON BERRY RUM_

(12:28 am) _GOD FUCKING DAMN IT MALFOY IS SUCH A FUCKING NARCISSIST_

(12:28 am) _I DIDN’T EVEN_

(12:29 am) _WHY IS IT ALWAYS ABOUT THE FUCKING DRAGONS WITH THAT ASSHOLE_

(12:29 am) _FUCK ALL OF THIS I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS SHIT_

(12:30 am) _FUCK BOISE_

(12:31 am) _THAT’S NOT FAR ENOUGH_

(12:31 am) _IM GOING TO FUCKING_

(12:32 am) _SEATTLE_

(12:34 am) **_the spirit isn’t a poltergeist_**

(12:34 am) **_and luna says its friendly_**

(12:34 am) **_it just didn’t like that u and i were hitting each other_**

(12:38 am) _WE WERE SPARRING_

(12:38 am) _LIKE MEN_

(12:39 am) _WE ARE MANLY MEN_

(12:39 am) _WHO SPAR_

(12:40 am) **_okay_**

(12:40 am) **_do u want me to tell you where hermione hid the doritos_**

(12:41 am) _I ALREADY FUCKING FOUND THE DORITOS BRO_

(12:41 am) _AND THEYRE GONE NOW_

(12:41 am) _HELLA GONE_

(12:41 am) _BECAUSE WE ARE MANLY MEN_

(12:42 am) _WHO FUCKING_

(12:42 am) _DEMOLISH THINGS_

(12:42 am) _LIKE_

(12:43 am) _FUCKING_

(12:43 am) _PATRIARCHY_

(12:43 am) _AND GHOSTS_

(12:44 am) _FUCK GHOSTS_

(12:44 am) _KILL THE GHOSTS_

(12:44 am) _KILL THEM WITH FIRE_

(12:45 am) **_maybe u should put away the malibu_**

(12:46 am) _hey_

(12:46 am) _bro_

(12:47 am) _MAYBE YOU SHOULD PUT AWAY THE PATRIARCHY_

(12:47 am) _HUH_

(12:48 am) _WHAT NOW_

(12:49 am) **_daphne is already in bed_**

(12:49 am) **_just fyi_**

(12:50 am) **_u guys should join her_**

(12:52 am) _gfbfenwuck_

(12:53 am) **_?_**

(12:53 am) _fuck_

(12:53 am) _idk_

(12:54 am) _sometimes too much of a good thing can be_

(12:54 am) _u know_

(12:54 am) _too much_

(12:54 am) _like_

(12:55 am) _this fuKCKING DRAGON BERRY RUM_

(12:55 am) **_u guys will work it out_**

(12:56 am) _yeah_

(12:56 am) **_and if u don’t_**

(12:56 am) **_u won’t lose them_**

(12:56 am) **_not as friends i mean_**

(12:57 am) **_we’re all way too codependent_**

(12:57 am) **_to really go anywhere_**

(12:59 am) _dropping that truth bomb bro_

(01:01 am) **_but u really should put away the malibu_**

(01:02 am) _FUCKING FIGHT ME ABOUT IT MARCUS_

 

* * *

 


	5. Day Four

* * *

 

They go back to the diner to visit the jackalope head.

“I brought sunglasses for him, too,” Luna explains to Marcus, beaming as he holds open the door. “That fluorescent lighting _can’t_ be good for his eyes—they’re incredibly sensitive, especially in the spirit realm.”

And Marcus still isn’t sure what any of that really means—like, _where_ is the spirit realm? Is it some underground _Dante’s Inferno_ bullshit or is it invisible?—but he squeezes her hand and flashes her a grin and thinks that at least the impromptu sacrifice of Draco’s horrible cherry-red Ray Bans is for a semi-good cause.

“Cool,” Marcus says, dropping into an empty booth. “Did you…uh, did you want another—grapefruit?”

Luna sits across from him, bouncing slightly in her seat, and immediately reaches for the ceramic R2-D2 novelty salt shaker. “No, my humors have re-balanced themselves,” she replies, breezily. “I want a bison burger. With chimichurri. And feta.”

He squints. “It’s nine in the morning,” he starts to say—until he’s distracted by a group of guys lounging around one of the window tables because _holy shit_ is that Vince and Greg’s fucking _drug dealer_?

Marcus has only met the guy once, at that party he’d punched Potter at. Dolohov had shown up with one of his junior dime-bag minions in tow, a girl named Millicent, and he’d proceeded to Frisbee-throw his AmEx at Daphne’s forehead when she’d drunkenly demanded that someone, _anyone_ , take her to go get Taco Bell—

“— _prairie ghosts in Montana_ —” Luna is chattering on. “ _— **fascinatingly** violent Silver Rush in 1860, Daddy refers to it as a miniature apocalypse_ —”

—and Marcus is almost _positive_ that the shady-looking guy with the scraggly black beard and the brown leather bomber jacket who’s currently sprawled out in a rickety antique diner chair…well, his name is Antonin Dolohov and he is _weirdly_ out of place in Butt-Fuck-Nowhere, Idaho.

“ _—baby formula and scarab beetles_ —” Luna continues, fiddling with an elaborate straw-wrapper accordion chain that she’d apparently just made. “ _—always hated Horus, though, the point of sunshine shouldn’t be to **overpower** everything else_ —”

“Luna,” Marcus interrupts, lowering his voice and leaning across the table.

She blinks. “Yes?”

He glances furtively around the diner. “See those guys over there? By—by the jackalope?”

“The hipster and the drug dealer?”

“There’s a third, too.”

“He’s asleep against the window, can’t you hear him snoring?”

“Is that—wait, _really_? _That’s_ what that sound is? I thought…I dunno, a search and rescue helicopter, maybe—”

“I like his hair,” Luna muses. “It’s hard to get blue to stay that bright. Do you think he’d tell me what he used to dye it if I woke him up to ask?”

Marcus blanches, opening his mouth to respond just as the Hipster—whose jeans are fucking _painted on_ , Jesus fucking Christ, there’s no way that fucker’s got underwear on—begins to loudly complain about… _everything_.

“—don’t want any of those shitty corporate popcorn-machine _IMAX theaters_ , okay? And this is what’s wrong with, with _bucolic_ small-town America, right, this is what I’ve been _saying_ , man—where’s the art? Where’s the culture? Who the fuck do I have to quote _Reservoir Dogs_ to so I can get a cup of coffee that wasn’t made on the scoliosis-stricken _backs_ of our third-world brethren? I mean, come on, _paper filters_? Just get a fucking Wal-Mart tattoo on your ass, you’re literally _part of the problem_ —”

Luna wrinkles her nose. “He’s wearing an Alexander McQueen scarf,” she whispers, uncharacteristically incredulous.

“ _Tom_ ,” Dolohov interjects, producing a duct-tape wrapped iPhone from his interior jacket pocket and shooting the Hipster a decidedly disgruntled glare. “Just… _fuck_ , man, just _shut up_. If you need to rant about how the _free-range egg industry_ is taking the ‘free’ out of our ‘freedom’…I don’t know, do it on your fucking _blog_ or something, _shit_ , it’s too fucking _early_ for this.”

“Fine,” The Hipster huffs, jerking his chin at Dolohov’s phone. “What are you _doing_ , anyway? Texting your dynamic duo Cro-Magnon stoner pals?”

Without warning, Blue Hair’s snoring _dramatically_ increases in volume.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Luna murmurs. “I think he’s pretending to be asleep.”

Dolohov sighs. “I’m…you know. Checking my email. Reading TMZ. Going through Twitter. The fucking _usual_ , Tom, what the fuck does it _matter_?”

The Hipster scowls at his corn beef hash. “Ah, yes, the _plebeian_ socio-political construct of the Eternal Twitter Struggle,” he drawls acidly, poking at the jackalope head with the tines of his fork. “Hashtag _boring_ , hashtag _clueless_ , hashtag _take me to the year 3000_ , hashtag _Nick Jonas_ —”

Blue Hair suddenly sits up with an elephant-trumpet groan and fucking _skewers_ the Hipster with a deeply unimpressed glower. “Look, fuckface, I don’t give a _rat’s hairy rectum_ how much money my bro here happens to owe you—I will kick your scrawny white ass from here to fucking _Coachella_ if you don’t quit your bitching. _Okay_?”

The Hipster narrows his eyes, fine-boned features shifting into a mask that’s kind of hysterically dangerous considering the chunky eggplant knit beret he has perched on the crown of his head. “Oh? With _what_ , Scabior? Your drumsticks?”

Blue Hair snorts and waves his middle finger around in an exaggerated figure-eight pattern. “Hey, Ant-Man,” he grunts.

Dolohov looks up, expression cagey. “Yeah?”

Blue Hair smirks. “Do you think they even, like, _have_ gun laws this many miles from a functioning airport?”

Luna emits a tiny little squeak of a giggle and claps her hand over her mouth. “I like his pants, too,” she confides to Marcus, tone dreamy. “They’re so _plaid_.”

 

* * *

 

(11:43 am) _doesn’t a “””””group outing”””””_

(11:43 am) _sound like a hella fucking bad idea_

(11:44 am) _just_

(11:44 am) _endless misery_

(11:44 am) _and temper tantrums_

(11:45 am) _and soy chocolate fro-yo ending up in malfoys fucking hair again_

(11:45 am) _ha_

(11:45 am) _remember that joke i made about hair gel after that_

(11:45 am) _im the fucking best_

(11:45 am) **_?_**

(11:46 am) **_you were the one who started the food fight_**

(11:46 am) _EXACTLY MAN_

(11:46 am) _i fucking_

(11:47 am) _i blackout or some shit_

(11:47 am) _like_

(11:47 am) _i can only listen to pansy and daphne talk about breadsticks for so long before my hindbrain takes over_

(11:48 am) _u feel me_

(11:49 am) **_i think breadsticks are an inside joke with them_**

(11:49 am) _wait_

(11:49 am) _really?_

(11:50 am) _like_

(11:50 am) _how_

(11:51 am) _keep a brother informed_

(11:51 am) **_idk_**

(11:51 am) _…_

(11:51 am) _???_

(11:51 am) _!!!_

(11:52 am) **_it would just be weird if they talked about actual breadsticks that often_**

(11:52 am) **_u know_**

(11:53 am) _i mean_

(11:53 am) _blondie talks about ghosts way more often than they talk about breadsticks_

(11:54 am) **_that reminds me_**

(11:54 am) **_we need a piece of your hair_**

(11:57 am) _?????????????????????????????????????????????_

(11:57 am) _and also_

(11:57 am) _FUCK no_

(11:57 am) **_why not_**

(11:58 am) _?????_

(11:58 am) _uh_

(11:58 am) _bro_

(11:59 am) _maybe the sex fumes are scrambling your brain_

(11:59 am) _but_

(11:59 am) _you just asked me for a piece of my hair and provided me with absolutely no justification_

(11:59 am) _and_

(12:00 pm) _honestly_

(12:00 pm) _the context was_

(12:01 pm) _just_

(12:01 pm) _u know_

(12:01 pm) _HELLA questionable_

(12:01 pm) _like wtf man_

(12:01 pm) _does the ghost have a fucking spirit boner for pantene pro-v_

(12:01 pm) **_luna wants to do a sacrifice spell_**

(12:02 pm) **_now that she knows its name is myrtle_**

(12:03 pm) **_and she thought that asking you guys for blood would be weird_**

(12:03 pm) _oh my god_

(12:03 pm) **_so hair is a loophole substitute_**

(12:04 pm) **_or something_**

(12:04 pm) **_idk_**

(12:05 pm) **_she needs genetic material_**

(12:06 pm) _girls who wear as much pink as she does_

(12:06 pm) _should not be saying shit like “sacrifice spell”_

(12:06 pm) _and_

(12:06 pm) _“here let me gather some of your genetic material with these wicked sharp fucking sewing scissors”_

(12:07 pm) **_that’s sexist_**

(12:07 pm) _did granger teach u to say that_

(12:08 pm) **_potter_**

(12:08 pm) **_actually_**

(12:09 pm) _of fucking course it was potter_

(12:10 pm) _ANYWAY_

(12:10 pm) _if u touch my fucking hair_

(12:10 pm) _i will slap u with that giant slab of venison potter and malfoy brought back this morning_

(12:11 pm) _in protest of granger’s chickpea spinach omelets_

(12:11 pm) **_everyone else already contributed hair though_**

(12:12 pm) _even warrington_

(12:12 pm) **_i had to agree to never call him cassie again_**

(12:13 pm) **_but_**

(12:13 pm) **_yeah_**

(12:14 pm) _cassie is such a fucking tool_

(12:14 pm) **_he gives really good birthday presents though_**

(12:15 pm) _fuck yeah he does_

(12:15 pm) _like last year_

(12:16 pm) _he hired a contractor to fix that hole i punched in malfoys bathroom wall_

(12:16 pm) _and when I looked the guy up on angies list_

(12:17 pm) _he had like_

(12:17 pm) _ZERO COMPLAINTS_

(12:17 pm) _bro gives hella good presents_

 

* * *

 

After lunch, they all wind up milling around the woods behind the cabin together.

Luna is clutching a pair of hugely intimidating binoculars with a sequined purple My Little Pony neck strap, Hermione has on knee-high argyle rain boots and a puffy white jacket that looks like it could conceivably double as a fucking airbag if the opportunity arose, and Blaise is shivering in a lime green Henley while muttering under his breath about _black guys not being built for the fucking snow_ , _shit, who’s saying rooster **now** , Malfoy_?

Marcus slings an arm around Luna’s waist, and she burrows into his body, rubbing her nose against his shoulder.

Harry and Draco are both wearing hooded grey Washington Wizards sweatshirts—Pucey had made a joke about the _happy couple finally matching_ ; Daphne had promptly high-fived him—and Theo is playing soccer with a pinecone. Warrington and Pansy are arguing about which shade of fuchsia she should use for the cover of the portfolio she has to submit with her Parsons application.

“Does anyone want to help me look for chupacabra prints before we contact the spirit?” Luna calls out, tucking her fingers into the front of Marcus’s coat.

In unison, Harry and Draco seem to perk up.

“Aren’t those desert-dwellers?” Hermione asks, tone heavily tinged with exasperation. “In most Meso-American folklore—”

“If we only ever looked for things where we _expected to find them_ , there would probably be far fewer discoveries of historical significance,” Luna interrupts coolly. “Chupacabra legends stretch as far south as the _Andes Mountains_ , Hermione—there’s absolutely no evidence to suggest that they’re _exclusive desert-dwellers_.”

Hermione’s eyes widen a fraction, and Draco takes a hesitant step in her direction, hand outstretched.

A vaguely awkward silence descends.

“Right,” Hermione eventually replies, clearing her throat. “That’s…right. Of course. Chupacabra prints. Let’s…let’s do that.”

And then Luna is relaxing into Marcus’s chest again and Theo is blithely offering Hermione some of the whiskey in his ostentatious silver hip flask and Warrington and Pucey are making out against a Douglas fir and Daphne and Pansy are talking in hushed voices over by another tree, heads ducked and expressions pensive—

“—don’t _drink_ all of it, fuck, what happened to ‘ _if you wouldn’t drink and drive you shouldn’t drink and ski’_?” Theo is complaining, trying in vain to snatch his flask back from Hermione, who’s gulping from it like a fucking _champ_.

“I’m not _skiing_ ,” she snaps irritably, face screwed up with distaste, “I’m _babysitting_.”

And Blaise is staring at the compass app on his iPhone and looking around with panicked, wary confusion and Draco and Potter are pelting each other with snowballs, shouting about pillow forts and battle stations and _I’m not the one who fucking **cheats** at badminton, am I, Malfoy_ —

“I like this,” Marcus suddenly says to Luna. “Being here. With them. And you. Especially you. I really…I _like_ it, you know?”

Luna hums. “My mother used to say that love…it isn’t just about being happy in the present. That if you’re not surrounded by people who can make you excited for the future…that it’s not worth it.”

Marcus tightens his grip on her waist. “Yeah,” he replies, quietly. “That’s…I get that.”

She pauses.

She tilts her head back, a small smile hovering around the edges of her mouth—

And she doesn’t answer, not really, but she _does_ lift herself onto the very tips of her toes to press a slow, soft kiss to his lips and he thinks—he _thinks_ —

He thinks it might be a different kind of answer.

 

* * *

 

(7:00 pm) _that_

(7:05 pm) _was_

(7:06 pm) _fucking CRAZY_

(7:06 pm) _like_

(7:08 pm) _myrtle the ghost had some shit to SAY bro_

(7:25 pm) **_lunas pretty happy about how it went_**

(7:25 pm) **_yeah_**

(7:25 pm) **_although_**

(7:25 pm) **_i guess spirits aren’t normally so…whiny_**

(7:26 pm) **_?_**

(7:26 pm) _like myrtle the ghost_

(7:28 pm) _fucking read us the fucking riot act_

(7:28 pm) _hot damn_

(7:29 pm) _it was like facing malfoys dad_

(7:29 pm) _after we got detention for letting that bag of crickets loose in the girls locker room in the sixth grade_

(7:30 pm) _FUCK that_

(7:30 pm) _like for a man with hair like fucking rapunzel_

(7:30 pm) _hes hella scary_

(7:30 pm) **_idk_**

(7:31 pm) **_he got me out of juvie early_**

(7:32 pm) **_and made sure snape was my parole officer_**

(7:33 pm) **_hes nice when it isn’t an election year_**

(7:36 pm) _SHUT THE FRONT DOOR_

(7:38 pm) _malfoys dad is the reason we have snape in our lives_

(7:38 pm) _??????????_

(7:38 pm) _?????_

(7:38 pm) _???????????????????_

(7:39 pm) _MALFOYS DAD_

(7:39 pm) _IS THE REASON_

(7:39 pm) _WE HAVE SNAPE_

(7:39 pm) _IN OUR LIVES_

(7:40 pm) **_yes?_**

(7:40 pm) **_they never talk about how they know each other_**

(7:41 pm) **_but_**

(7:41 pm) **_they do_**

(7:42 pm) _bro_

(7:43 pm) _dont play dumb_

(7:43 pm) _u know snapes my fucking idol_

(7:43 pm) _like i ASPIRE to his level of not giving a fuck_

(7:44 pm) _he fucking_

(7:44 pm) _WE CALL HIM THE SILENT KILLER_

(7:45 pm) _HE SENDS US EDIBLE ARRANGEMENTS WHEN WE GO A WHOLE SEMESTER WITHOUT SETTING ANY FOREST FIRES_

(7:45 pm) _HES LIKE SMOKEY THE FUCKING BEAR_

(7:46 pm) _IF SMOKEY THE BEAR_

(7:46 pm) _WAS REALLY SMOKEY THE BAT_

(7:47 pm) _AND NOW YOURE TELLING ME_

(7:47 pm) _THAT HES FUCKING_

(7:48 pm) _BEST BROS WITH LUCIUS MALFOY_

(7:49 pm) _like holy shit man i have so many QUESTIONS_

(7:49 pm) _like_

(7:50 pm) _do they have bro-cations_

(7:50 pm) _do they take selfies together_

(7:52 pm) _do they share hair care tips and pass them on to draco like the PRODIGAL FUCKING PAMPERED DRAGON BABY SON HE IS_

(7:58 pm) _TELL ME FUCKING EVERYTHING MARCUS_

(8:00 pm) **_this conversation is really weird_**

(8:00 pm) **_im gonna ignore it_**

(8:01 pm) _lame_

(8:05 pm) **_oh_**

(8:06 pm) **_shit_**

(8:07 pm) **_luna and i saw dolohov at the diner this morning_**

(8:08 pm) **_he was there with_**

(8:08 pm) **_this guy with blue hair_**

(8:08 pm) **_and like this super tall douchey hipster_**

(8:09 pm) **_?_**

(8:09 pm) _jesus_

(8:09 pm) _idk who the hipster is_

(8:10 pm) _but the guy with blue hair is named_

(8:10 pm) _fucking_

(8:10 pm) _scabior_

(8:11 pm) _ hes in that band vince and greg are always pretending theyre all into whenever they don’t want to admit they’re pretty monogamous with nicki minaj  _

(8:12 pm) **_ok_**

(8:12 pm) **_?_**

(8:10 pm) _no idea what the fuck theyre doing in idaho bro_

(8:10 pm) _maybe luna’s on to something with that fucking chupacabra treasure hunt_

(8:12 pm) **_you called her luna_**

(8:14 pm) _ANYWAY_

 

* * *

 


End file.
